


It's You, You're All I See

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 12:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19441759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: After stopping the apocalypse, Aziraphale decides to offer his shoulder for Crowley to cry on about whatever mysterious best friend he had lost during the fallout of it all. This goes about as well as expected.





	It's You, You're All I See

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a little all over the place, so I apologize. My first few fics in any fandom are usually just me trying to get a handle on how to write the characters. I also apologize for not at all following through on my promises to finish up my WIPs, but... I'm gonna write what I'm in the mood to write, at this point. And rn I'm in full Good Omens mode.
> 
> Also please note that I haven't read the book (although I will this fall when I get it for my birthday lmao), so my work is 100% based on the TV show & anything I've seen on tumblr.

The world hadn’t ended, Heaven and Hell had - for lack of care to find a better phrase - fucked off, and an Angel and a Demon were dining at the Ritz. Even the bookshop and the Bentley were right as rain. Aziraphale rather liked rain. It had rained the day he’d had his first conversation with Crowley. In some ways, the rain had been the beginning of it all - ‘it’ meaning them and ‘them’ meaning…

Well, it was the unclear definition of ‘them’ that was ruining Aziraphale’s mood, actually. A few days prior, he would have thought - never _said_ , but thought - that he and Crowley were the best of friends. They’d been together - well, not exactly _together_ , but you get the idea - for six thousand years. No matter how long between their meetings, Aziraphale knew that one day he would hear Crowley’s voice again whenever he most needed to hear it. Even when they fought, he knew, deep down, that Crowley would turn up again and everything would go back to being okay.

But during the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, Crowley had said something that Aziraphale couldn’t shake.

_I lost my best friend._

Angels shouldn’t experience jealousy, but Aziraphale couldn’t help wondering who had the _audacity_ to not only be Crowley’s best friend, but then to go and die and leave him sad and alone. If Aziraphale were more open about his ability to kill people, he might have said he’d kill them for the offense. And then he would have apologized profusely to no one in particular not because of the killing but because such an act would only make Crowley more upset (although he might claim it was about the killing).

Instead of either killing or not killing Crowley’s mysterious best friend who had died, Aziraphale opted to keep a close eye on the demon. After all, he hadn’t seen a single ounce of despair in him since he’d manifested in front of him in the bar. At least, not despair related to this apparent best friend. 

Three days after their dinner at the Ritz, the itch in Aziraphale’s chest carried him all the way to Crowley’s front door. Surely, it wasn’t odd, to be worried for one’s best - well, for one’s friend? Aziraphale was just checking in on him, making sure he was okay. That was all. He nodded once, twice, and then rang the doorbell. 

A breath. A tap of his foot. A twitch of his nose, another breath.

The door cracked open, sunglasses obscuring much of the face he could see through the crack. He opened his mouth to announce himself, but before he could, the door swung all the way open to reveal Crowley dressed in his usual black, shirt far too unbuttoned for Aziraphale’s comfort. 

“Angel? What are you doing here?” his mouth was doing that thing it always did, at least, whenever Aziraphale happened to notice what Crowley’s mouth was doing (which was, frankly, anytime Aziraphale was in Crowley’s vicinity). It was an odd sort of thing Aziraphale had noticed over the years. Most humans didn’t go around looking like that, and he had to wonder how Crowley got away with it. The truth, which Aziraphale was not privy to, was that Crowley only ever wore such an expression around Aziraphale. The expression was one of equal parts vulnerability, openness, adoration, bravado, and a false confidence that he was hiding it all, tied together with just a dash of desperation. To Aziraphale, this was simply how Crowley always looked and therefore held no deeper meaning than any person’s neutral face. 

Analysis of expressions aside, Aziraphale had been asked a question and therefore ought to respond accordingly. When he recalled this fact, he stammered out an, “Oh - oh yes. Well, um, you see… I was just - just checking in to make sure you were feeling alright.”

Crowley blinked, not that Aziraphale could see it through the sunglasses.

“Why wouldn’t I be feeling alright? We just saved the world and gave the finger to each other’s bosses - I’m more than okay!”

“But,” Aziraphale swallowed, trying very hard to keep himself composed, as any self-respecting angel should in situations such as these, “In the process of doing these things, sacrifices were made. The, er, the victory we have achieved doesn’t have to overshadow any - any _grief_ we may be feeling over these sacrifices.”

The demon frowned, “I mean, I did lose the Bentley, but she’s good as new again,” he paused then, and the crease in his forehead was so pronounced in that moment that it was easily visible above the bridge of his glasses, “Did - did _you_ lose someone, Angel?”

“Me?” Aziraphale frowned right back, “Why, no. The bookshop is in perfect condition, and thanks to Adam my body is back where it ought to be. What else did I have to lose?”

“You tell me,” Crowley shrugged, voice laced with confusion. When he had seen Aziraphale at his door, he had expected - well, _hoped_ \- that the angel was there to invite him to lunch, or perhaps simply missing his company. He had _not_ expected… whatever it was that this was supposed to be. 

“Well, just know,” Aziraphale said calmly, almost bravely, “That if there ever is anything you want to talk about - any _loss_ \- that I am always here for you.”

The words hit Crowley harder than a bullet to the heart, knowing, as he did, that Aziraphale would never be there for him the way he wanted. It simply wasn’t in the cards for him. And yet, it hurt all the more, knowing Aziraphale meant every word.

“Thanks,” he said, not knowing what else to say, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stood there for a few moments longer, neither quite knowing what to do or say now. Aziraphale shifted his weight back and forth between his feet, while Crowley did what he always did in Aziraphale’s presence and tried to commit every inch of him to memory. From the Beginning with a capital B he had been afraid that each time he saw Aziraphale would be the last, and even now that such fears had been well and truly quelled, he couldn’t help but fall into the old habit.

Just as Crowley was about to break the silence by asking if Aziraphale would like to grab some doner from the sketchy little place on the corner, Aziraphale burst out, “Who was it?”

Crowley rocked back on his heels as if from the force with which Aziraphale had voiced the question. 

“Who was what?”

“Thepersonyoulost,” Aziraphale said in a rush, puppy-eyed pout emerging on his face. Crowley’s mouth dropped open, unsure what the angel was going through but knowing that he needed to find out quickly so he could do whatever needed doing, kill whoever needing killing, anything to stop his angel looking all sad like that. 

“What?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, “The person you lost. Your best friend. Who were they?”

Crowley blinked once. He blinked twice. He blinked a third time. Aziraphale’s words finally clicked into place.

He burst out laughing. 

Aziraphale’s pout intensified, “Now listen here, Crowley. I’m _trying_ to be nice, and - and understanding, and everything a good friend should be, although _frankly_ the fact that you don’t consider me your best friend after everything we’ve been through is - well, perhaps I shouldn’t say as much, but considering Upstairs no longer cares - ”

He was cut off abruptly as Crowley put a finger to his lips before a red flush covered what little of his face could be seen and he took a comically wide step back. When he recovered whatever dignity he’d fooled himself into thinking he had, Crowley put the anxious angel’s mind at rest, “ _You_ were that friend, Angel.”

“I - I what? - I was?” Aziraphale was looking at him as if reevaluating his every thought from the past twenty-four hours at least. 

“Of course. _You’re_ my best friend, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, actually using his name for once, “I found the bookshop on fire and you were nowhere to be found and I couldn’t sense you. I thought I’d lost you for good, and it broke my heart.”

The words fell between them, and Crowley registered what he’d said with a gasp, “I - I mean - I mean I _didn’t_ mean - I - ”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to shut his friend up, but he was far more bold than simply putting a finger to the demon’s lips, silencing them with his own instead. Crowley froze beneath him, and the thought entered his head that perhaps Crowley had meant heartbroken as in a strong sense of loss and not actual romantic heartbreak, and perhaps Crowley really _hadn’t_ meant it like that, and perhaps he had just ruined that millennia long friendship, and perhaps -

Perhaps Crowley had simply been caught off guard by a sudden - and in his mind, unexpected - returning of the feelings he had harbored since the moment the angel had admitted to giving away his flaming sword. As soon as he’d realized that _yes_ this really _was_ happening, he threw himself whole-heartedly into the kiss, pulling Aziraphale inside and kicking the door closed. 

If asked, Crowley would say he slammed Aziraphale back against it. In truth, he did no such thing, but rather let Aziraphale pull him close as the angel pressed himself back instead. Thanks to a fear of moving too fast that he had developed precisely in 1967, Crowley could no longer bring himself to take the initiative where Aziraphale was concerned, and it was therefore up to Aziraphale to call these sorts of shots.

Of course, if you asked Aziraphle the same question, he would say that it was all Crowley and his demonic wiles, seducing him. After all, it would look just as bad for an angel to be tempting a demon as it would for the demon to be compliant to the will of any angel.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently extremely busy, but hopefully I'll have some time to get out a few of my other ideas soon.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
